


To Be Alone

by nesrynfaliq



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: (YES. ACTUAL LITERAL FLUFF. THERE ISN'T A SHRED OF ANGST IN THIS IT'S A MIRCALE), F/M, Fluff, IT'S ME, Moriel - Freeform, Secret Relationship, Smut, also sin, because, either angst or sin there has to be one of the two, so y'know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-27 04:57:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9968258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nesrynfaliq/pseuds/nesrynfaliq
Summary: moriel sin week prompt: secret rendezvous. Mor and Az find themselves alone in a quiet corner of Velaris, having been each told to meet someone important here, not knowing they were being set-up. Little does their High Lady know they've already been in a relationship for some months now. They decide to make the most of this time alone they've been given and slip off together to a nearby inn...'She hadn’t thought it possible – that she could want him more once he was hers but…From that first brush of his tongue against hers, that first taste of him, she had known that she would never belong to another heart again. She was his. She had always been his, really. As he had always been hers. She had known she would never want anyone else – and that she would never stop wanting him.'





	

Mor sucks in a deep breath as she steps from the whisper of darkness winnowing always envelopes her in. It’s near sunset and the streets of Velaris are busy, full of people heading home for their evening meals before the city comes alive for true when night falls. She smiles politely and nods greetings to a few of those who meet her eyes but she doesn’t linger to chat with anyone this time. She’s already a little late for her appointment.

The crowds fortunately start to thin as she heads towards the quieter, more residential area of town near the river. It’s much less densely populated and a faint kiss of mist cools her flushed, warm skin as she emerges from the hot press of bodies. Through the shifting eddies of swirling white she sees the bridge over the Sidra she was asked to come to and hurries her steps when she dimly spots a solitary figure waiting for her – a column of shadow among the white river ghosts.

Mor is within spitting distance before she realises that the person waiting for her is not the one she had expected. Old instincts, sharpened by the recent war, have her reaching for her power, gathering it in her body, preparing to attack or defend- But a heartbeat later she recognises the person and her defences shatter on instinct.

Azriel stands with perfect stillness, leaning on the stone wall of the bridge a calm, tranquil expression upon his handsome features. He doesn’t turn towards her, shift his position at all, or give any other outward reaction to her presence. Mor isn’t fooled. He knows perfectly well that she’s there. For one thing she had seen the shadow curling around his ear moments earlier, informing him that she was – though Mor suspects he had known even before that. The damn male is impossible to sneak up on; unless he lets her, which is frankly just insulting.

Approaching him with long, easy strides, Mor mirrors his unconcerned posture, standing beside him and letting her gaze drift out over the Sidra as well, following his gaze. She manages a full, impressive, ten seconds before her restraint cracks. Az smiles thinly, fondly, as the words burst from her, interrupting the peaceful silence, “What are you doing here?”

At last Ariel tears his gaze away from the view in front of them to look down at her. His face softens as his eyes meet hers, the mask of cold composure that some, wrongly, assume is a permanent feature of her shadowsinger slips. His quiet affection shows through instead, that tender smile lingering on his lips. The shadows that twist around him thin then vanish, as though giving them privacy. Her belly swoops with the usual familiar pulse of pleasure and joy that he feels safe with her, safe enough to let his instinctive guard down.

Az’s voice is its typical dark, velvet calm when he answers her, “I was told to urgently meet an informant here and was advised that the meeting would be…” his lips curl into a tighter smile, his eyes tinged with obvious amusement as he looks her up and down, appreciating her even though she’s dressed rather simply, “ _Advantageous_  to me.”

“By?” Mor prompts him, eyebrows quirking up.

Az’s smile deepens before he answers, “Feyre.”

Mor looses a short burst of laughter at that. Theory confirmed. Az only widens his eyes quizzically, inviting her to explain her reacting.  

Composing herself enough to answer Mor drums her fingers thoughtfully on the top of the stone wall before she tells Az, through a broad grin, “Our esteemed High Lady asked me to meet her here at this time for something  _very_  important.” Her smirk broadens, now edged with wicked glee as she jostles Az playfully with her shoulder. “Seems like you’re  _‘very_  important’, Az.”

As she had hoped this teases a faint flush of pink into his tan cheeks and her grin broadens in answer. Then his brow furrows and he clears  his throat and says, with a very good impression of his usual cool, analytical seriousness that’s only given away to her by how his hazel eyes glitter with merriment, “Looks like she thinks we should be spending some more quality time alone together. “

A soft shiver rustles through her as his gaze meets hers. Heat coils low in her stomach but she ignores it, pushing it down hard. Opting for airy amusement instead she says pointedly, “In a  _very_  romantic location.” She gestures around them, to the thin veil of mist enveloping them, adding an additional layer of intimacy to the meeting. The Sirda flows beneath them, gilded by the slowly setting sun, burning like liquid gold with diamonds peppering the smooth water, sparkling like stars.

Velaris is beautiful as it draws near to the night it so enjoys and it’s known, comfortable and familiar to both of them. The location is perfect – a little too perfect – and Feyre’s motives aren’t particularly difficult to guess at. Mor hopes Az never tries to recruit her for any further spying or subterfuge; if this is any indication she won’t get on well with it. Still…

She turns back to Az, her voice dropping, a hint of silk brushing through her words, “I’m not going to argue with her.”

Conversely to her hopeful expectations, Az’s frown only deepens into lines of uncertainty. “Do you think we should tell her?” he asks, his fingers trailing, apparently unconsciously, over the hand she has resting on the bridge.

Mor’s smirk becomes feral and wolfish when she replies, “Definitely not,” she says, getting the words out with difficulty past the laugh bubbling up n her throat, threatening to spill over into her mouth. “Where’s the fun in that?” she demands and Az lets out a little sigh, the same kind of long-suffering sound he tends to reserve just for Cassian. She knows him well enough to hear the affection in it that most others would miss and continues.

“ _I_ think we should make a fortune with this opportunity,” she chirps with a disarming conspirators’ grin. Az cocks his head slightly to one side, obviously confused, and she presses on, somehow managing to keep a straight face as she expands her brilliant plan to him. “You know, spread a few rumours, start a little public flirting for show, get a betting pool going-“

This time it’s Azriel’s turn to nudge her- but in gentle reprimand rather than play. Mor subsides, snickering, the stupid grin still plastered across her face refusing to be banished by Az’s disapproving chastisement.

Not that she wants it to be. She’s never felt this… _light_  before, as though, if Az didn’t keep her anchored tightly to him, she might find herself floating through the stars, discovering what it is to truly fly. She’s happy. Without strings or deadlines or eventual, inevitable endings just…Happy.  And she wants to remain that way for as long as possible.

Azriel’s face is smooth, his features set into their usual neutral cast. Then he says slowly, “Although,” and Mor’s eyes flash to him, a spark of lively interest kindling in her chest at his musing tone. “Our high Lady does seem to be getting a little…power-crazy,” he observes lightly, his rich hazel eyes dancing with amusement, “trying to match-make her advisors like this.” He shakes his head in evident mock-serious disapproval. “Maybe we should see what happens if we…”he pauses a moment, considering then phrasing, then settles, “Draw it out a little more?” he suggests evenly.

Mor smirks, stepping in close and extending her body in order to gaze up into his deep, warm eyes. Her voice lowers to a throaty purr as she muses, “I knew there was a reason I loved you, Azriel.”

His cheeks burn a faint red that has nothing to do with the sunset silhouetting them on the bridge. Moving forwards, Mor runs a light, proprietary hand over his toned chest. He’s clad in his usual worn, plain, black flying leathers but her mind’s eye conjures up a different vision of him. His tanned skin slick with sweat, the hard planes of muscle ripple beneath her touch and the tattoos that steal over his arms and shoulders catch her gaze, looking like drops of black ink swirling in water.

Blinking, Mor clears the image and focuses firmly on the present as one of his hands gently-so gently it’s tentative, as though he’s not quite sure if he’s allowed to touch her like this- squeezes her waist, drawing her firmly back to him. “Only one?” he asks, his voice low and deep, striking right at her core.

Mor makes no effort to hide the smile that pulls at her lips at his words, his lightness, the hint of playful teasing in him. Biting her lip she lets her fingers rise up higher, sliding into his hair, “I could stretch to two,” she  _supposes_ , “Some days maybe even as many as three.”

Azriel smiles for her at that and she fully appreciates how beautiful he is in that moment, the depth of warmth and love in him that lurks beneath his reservation. He slips both arms around her as they face each other. Lust darkens his eyes and causes heat to pulse between her legs as he leans down and gently brushes a strand of her golden hair away from her face.

“Maybe I should give you a few more reasons?” he suggests, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

His lips drop down to nuzzle at her neck and the soft huff of breath that leaves her strips away any thought of an answer. A vague, “Mm?” is the best she can manage under the circumstances.

He smiles against her skin. “It would be a pity to waste this time our High Lady has so generously given us,” he murmurs, each word hot where he presses it into her neck, making what he believes they should do with this unexpected moment of uninterrupted peace perfectly clear.

She purrs in delighted agreement of his idea, “It would be,” she nods firmly.

Standing on her toes Mor drapes her arms around Azriel’s neck, drawing him in closer to her. His scarred hand eases under her chin, cradling her face, tilting it up. He eases her hair over her shoulder a moment before he leans down and lets his mouth meet hers. She arches up into him, lips parting, permitting him to deepen the kiss, to drag every inch of feeling from her. His hand slides into her hair as she pulls him deeper into her embrace. Her eyes are closed but the blazing red glow of the sunset exploding over them still makes itself known, warming her skin as Azriel’s kiss heats her simmering blood to boiling.

Drawing away, panting, she can sense the same hunger in Az that’s twisting in her stomach. He slides his hand into hers and her thumbs automatically start unconsciously tracing the dips and rivets of his scarred flesh, finding comfort in the familiar patterns.

Azriel leads her through the streets, clearly following a known path, though this isn’t a part of town she knows well enough to figure out where they’re going. His pace is purposeful however and they reach their destination without Az giving into the temptation of pulling her into a nearby shadowed alley to kiss her – a temptation she would have yielded two three or four times in this short trip.

They’ve barely seen each other all week and all she’s wanted ever since having her first taste of him is  _more_. Any moment that she’s not kissing him or touching him or holding him has been a moment that she’s wasting. There have been far too many wasted moments these past few days and she’s feeling frustrated. Her patience on this occasion is rewarded however.

A low swoop of pleasure tugs at her belly as she sees the neat outside of a small, inviting inn waiting for them up the top of the next street they turn into; clearly Azriel’s end goal. She and Az have properties in the city but both are on the other side of Velaris and this…the surprise, the prospect of being with him somewhere that isn’t their beds is oddly thrilling.

When she looks up at him she catches the playful glint in his eyes and surprise flickers through her. He had  _planned_  this- of course he had. Only Az could plan spontaneity and make it work this way.

“How did you know this was here?” she demands, wondering if perhaps he had known all along Feyre wasn’t setting him up to meet an informant and had scouted the area before she had arrived for this very purpose.

All he says however, with a small smile, is, “It’s my job to know things, Morrigan.”

The thin whisper of shadows that sneak over his shoulder before he shoos it away with an irritable shrug of his wings is all she needs to explain his mysterious ways. Hiding her smile, Mor pushes into the inn and sashays easily up to the counter.  

The interior matches what she had seen of the outside- plain, simple, but clean and obviously well cared for. Smiling warmly at the fae behind the desk Mor enquires about a room for two. The woman looks at Mor and then at the dark figure of Az hovering in her shadow and asks if they’d like one bed or two. Mor feels a faint thrill at the knowledge that she can now say confidently that one will suit them just fine…Though from the look on Az’s face when she glances back at him as the innkeep turns to fetch them keys she wonders, with a thrill jolting through her at the prospect, if they’ll need even one…

Mor pays for the room and barely manages to linger long enough to hear directions there before Az is easing a hand around her waist and sweeping her away towards the rooms. She catches the fleeting smile on the woman’s face, the slight, amused shake of her head, before they disappear around the corner.

The staircase that leads to the upper levels is narrow and a little crooked. Azriel goes fist and Mor admires the view this affords her, watching with a thin smirk as he’s forced to tuck his vast wings in a little more tightly against his body to stop them dragging on the walls and tearing chunks out of them with the talons at their peaks. She really can’t help herself from reaching out and brushing them with the tips of her fingers, the temptation is too great. The snarl that fills the small space around them in answer shudders through her core and she feels her mouth going dry at the sound.

Az glances once over his shoulder at her, a shadow rapping lightly on her knuckles to warn her to behave herself, then he returns to climbing up. He purposefully maintains his comfortable, leisurely pace, punishment for her presumption in brushing his wings, teasing him when he can’t do the same in return, even though she knows how much he wants her. She can see it in the rigid set of his muscles, the tension she feels in the cramped hallways, the heat radiating from his skin.

“Az,” she groans but he makes no move to hurry his steps and her frustration peaks, leaving her in an irritable, half-hearted growl.

“Patience, Mor,” he chides and she can hear the smug little smile in his voice.

_Bastard_. She has half a mind to stomp right back downstairs and demand the innkeep give her another room connecting Azriel’s so he’s fully aware how much fun she’s having without him. But she can’t, she can’t, Cauldron boil her she  _needs_  him.

He turns into their corridor and she shoves the room keys roughly into his hand, unable to squeeze past him. He unlocks the door and steps into the neat, orderly bedroom, causing the lights to automatically kindle, bathing the room in a soft, warm golden glow.

They barely make it a foot inside before her patience snaps. Surging forwards, Mor slams him against the nearest wall, her mouth meeting his without a shred of hesitancy in the gesture. She lets the door slam with her magic, ensuring that they won’t be disturbed, then focuses all of her energies on Azriel.

“Damn you,” she growls, pausing their kiss just long enough to get the words out before claiming his lips with hers again. “Damn you, damn you,  _damn you_ ,” she snarls, pounding a fist against his chest as his fingers slide deeply into her hair.

She’s panting, skin flushed already, but she couldn’t care less about it as his hand grips her waist, his thumb brushing the band of golden skin revealed when her shirt rides up as she arches up to him. His lips are on hers again before she can explain her cursing and it’s bliss. It’s bliss not to think, not to plot, not to worry, not to have to face her lurking demons, not to exist at all except where his body meets hers and commands it to  _feel_.

“You must have known how much I wanted you,” she gasps, already breathless because of him.

The smile that touches his lips is dark and edged with wicked hunger, “Of course I knew,” he purrs evenly, pushing her hair back over a shoulder and cupping her face in his hand in the same movement, stroking his thumb over her lips, sensitive from their bruising kisses. “I could smell you,” he breathes, dipping down to press the words into her hair, “You smell…delicious, Morrigan.”  

His voice is so composed and controlled while she struggles to get any words out at all, her eyes drifting shut as her body reacts to him. “Then why-“ she begins irritably but her frustration is driven from her in the rush of air that’s forced from her lungs as he flips their positions without warning, pinning her down against the wall instead. His great black wings flare, the talons digging deeply into the wood above her head, anchoring them around her, her body trapped by his.

All the words, all the irritated protests and hungry demands flood from her as she stares up at him, lips parted, mouth dry, pupils blown wide with lust. Perfect. He’s perfect. His body is a perfect fit for hers as he presses them slowly, deliberately, together, lowering himself against her with agonising slowness, letting her feel every inch of him as it’s pushed against her body. She melts, liquid that Azriel moulds to him and she lets him, lets him do whatever he wants with her, trusting him, anticipating every touch, every pulse of pleasure it will cause.

“Patience, Mor,” he urges her, repeating his words from the hallway.

Then he kisses her. While the ones that had gone before this had been sparks, the kind made from flint striking, their lips meeting, their bodies brushing one another, their hearts scraping against their ribs, this…This is the inferno kindled from those sparks.

The fire begins in the pit of her stomach, a pleasant warmth spreading out from her core, moving to the very tips of her body, burning through her nerves, her blood, every inch of her. Then his tongue slides slowly into her mouth, parting her lips for him with ease, and that fire roars. Her chest and lungs flood with smoke and she can’t breathe,  _can’t breathe_ , without his lips on hers, cleansing her, pressing life back into her.

Heat licks her flushed skin and throbs between her legs and she only wants him- him, him, him, him, him,  _him_. Wherever his hands rest on her body flames leap and dance where he wills them, he their master and hers, and she wants nothing more than to burn up in his embrace. When he coaxes her to rise from the ashes he will make of them they will be one, woven into a single whole, as they were always meant to be.

She threads her fingers deeply into his dark hair as they break the kiss, chests heaving, resting their brows together.

“I was patient for more than five hundred years, Azriel,” she growls onto his lips, “I’m done with patience. I want you  _now_.”

She pulls his head down, mouths meeting in another bruising kiss in which she claims him. Her fingers start working at the fastenings of his tunic, thick and clumsy with lust and need. She uses her magic for the catches securing the slits in the back that make room for his wings but this, this she wants to do herself. She snarls in annoyance at her in ability to get this off of him quickly. Azriel laughs darkly into her mouth and she parts her lips for him in invitation.

At last his tunic parts between her hands and she runs them slowly, indulgently, over his chest, down his stomach, lower. He growls, his fingers moving faster over the impossible lacing keeping her shirt in place, wrapping and cross-crossing over the loose blue material, giving it shape and her support. She can feel her own hunger driven frustration echoed in Az but his infinite patience will never let him simply  _take_  what he wants, what he needs.

Wrapping her fingers around his wrists, his skin burning as though with fever, she drags his hands up to her open collar, panting, “Just rip the damn thing, Az.”

His eyes meet hers and he doesn’t wait to be asked twice- the most obvious evidence of his own desire. The material tears easily in response to Az’s precise, swift tug and she gasps even though she was braced for it. A giddy laugh bubbles from her chest and she tilts her head back against the wall as Azriel tosses her ruined shirt to the floor, her bra soon following suit.

Then they’re skin to skin and she knows, she finally, truly  _knows_  what it is to feel alive.  

He cradles her head in his hand and then he kisses her again. She wraps her arms around him, drags her nails lightly up and down his back along the long column of black tattoos set over his spine.

This is still so new, so thrilling – to be allowed to touch him like this, kiss him like this, hold him so close to her, see him so stripped, so vulnerable,  _have_  him so fully and completely as she does now. When he kisses her it feels as though every century, every decade, every year, every week, very day, every moment she waited for him has led to that heart-stopping second when his mouth meets hers and she knows it was all worth it.

When his lips brushed hers that first time she had known she would have waited for it, for him, until she was nothing, until she was a hollow star in the vast heavens finally feeling the brush of his darkness against her, encouraging her to glow.

When he touches her now it strips her bare, strips her of every century she’s lived, making it as though those years, the darkness she had endured, had burned through, had never happened. She is reborn in the safety of his embrace. Every breath, every touch, every kiss, every burst of sunshine that flares up her spine feels like the first.

Her body is overwhelmed and undone by him. It’s intoxicating, it’s all she ever wants to experience. For the rest of her immortal existence all she wants is Az. It’s consuming and perfect and  _holy_. It’s everything. She doesn’t think she’ll ever have enough of it, of  _him_.

Every other lover she’s taken over the years has eventually worn her down, bored her. The taste of them, the feel of them had become familiar and things had slowly stagnated until she’d felt suffocated and trapped by their expectations of something more, something she would never want to give them. She had never had any wish to look beneath the surface of their skin, to know them, to let them know her.

She and Az had already bared their souls to one another long before they bared their skin. The more she has of this man the more she needs. The others had all been a poison, sweet to begin with, but they soon began to sicken her. What she has with Azriel is a different kind of drug, an antidote to all the rest but addictive from the first taste she’d had of him in the Illyrian camps.

When the boy who had worn his scars on his skin the way she’d worn her heart on hers had looked at the girl who guarded the shadows in her heart the way he guarded the secrets his whispered to him, and offered her a shy smile. She had known then that she would never want anyone else, would never love anyone else the way she could love him. He had looked at her then and his demons had seen hers and whispered ‘ _you understand_ ’ a moment before they had fallen for each other.

Az recalls her to herself as he unbuttons her trousers and she wastes no time in kicking them off. His hands dip into her underwear, not bothering to remove them, just shifting the sodden fabric out of the way, enough to let him touch her. He lets out a soft groan onto her neck at how wet she already is for him.

“Az,” she rasps out to him, winding her fingers into his hair.

For once he doesn’t draw it out until she’s begging, speechless; doesn’t tease her right up to the point before it would have been unbearable. He just gives her what she wants, what she _needs_ from him. Gently, easily, with a low hiss of approval, he slides a finger into her, then a second and she moans, tipping her head back and swallowing down a curse. His eyes flicker up to her face once then he starts to circle his thumb over her clit.

Mor gasps, gripping his arms as tightly as she can, fingers digging into his flesh. His lips find her neck, sucking on a sensitive spot there, leaving a mark she knows will bruise her for tonight before fading by morning- keeping their secret safe. Tilting her head back further against the wall to give him better access she lets her nails bite into his biceps until she draws blood and he presses a soft, rough, exhilarated laugh into her skin.

Pleasure starts to pool in her core and she wants nothing more than to sink into it, into him but- Reaching down Mor catches his wrist, making him pause. He blinks up at her, clearly puzzled, concern creasing his brow as well.

Struggling to control her ragged breathing she manages to get out in a coarse whisper, “I don’t want to come tonight until you’re inside me.”

Azriel’s low, answering growl rumbles through his chest, vibrating in the pit of her stomach, causing her to shiver with need. Slowly, deliberately, she draws his hand away, up. “Taste me,” she murmurs,  _commands_.

Just as slowly, just as deliberately, his eyes never leaving hers, making sure she watches every moment of this, he puts a finger in his mouth and sucks. She wants to devour him, to push him to the floor, right here, right now, rip his clothes from him and ride him until he shouts her name loudly enough to make the Illyrian mountains tremble in the distance.

Instead she holds herself perfectly, impossibly, still and watches as he licks her from another finger. He closes his eyes, indulging in her a low, throaty purr of approval radiating through her. Mor still has a loose hold on his wrist and when he opens his mouth again she tightens her grip on him, stopping him.

Az looks down at her as she draws him to her own mouth. She sucks herself from his thumb, teeth dragging over the skin as she slowly,  _slowly_  pulls back, her eyes fixed on his as his pupils blow wide, like a bottle of black ink spilled across a sheet of crisp paper, obliterating the warm hazel around them.

Azriel pounces on her.

Mor lets out a gasp as he pulls her against him with a rough jolt. She can  _feel_ the hunger blazing through him as though every desperate pump of his heart sends it surging through his body. When he fists a hand in her hair and drags her mouth up to meet his she can taste the need for her on his tongue. It’s rich and sharp, like her favourite liquor, burning through her. She can scent his arousal and she whimpers into his mouth, not afraid to beg him, to show him the level of control he has over her. Not him.

Azriel is the one who breaks the kiss, before she’s ready, but then he could have kissed her until the day the sun stopped rising and she wouldn’t have been ready for it to end. Though his lips part from hers his hand remains buried deeply in her thick hair and he keeps her body pressed tightly against his. His other hand slides under her chin, making her look up at him. The ball of his thumb trails tenderly over her bottom lip, soft, teasing, considering.

“I want you.”

The words are low, rough, near primal and she feels her heart flutter excitedly in her chest. The way he’s looking at her…Five hundred years of stolen glances and longing looks she was never allowed to know of condensed into one soul-rending glance. The sheer  _want_  in his eyes is overwhelming .She almost feels as though she’s intruding on something private, something intimate, something she was never supposed to see. Except…Except that this is all for her. All of it.

“Yes.” Her body gives him her answer, tugged from her in a stolen whisper of breath, while her mind is still too busy reeling from his words to properly respond to them.

Az dips down, kisses her again, but this one is gentle, soft, a brief brush of his lips, a faint taste of tongue. When he draws back this time her body follows him instinctively, as though she is the damned and he tastes like salvation.

Slowly, carefully, with rough hands that still seem as though they were made specifically to be gentle with her, cautious, precise, always, he coaxes her to turn round for him, her body pliant with pleasure and love. Then he steps up against her, pulling her back until she’s pressed flush against his bare chest.

She can feel how hard he is, straining against the taut fabric of his trousers, pressing into her lower back. A soft whimper escapes her and she feels exposed without his arms around her, his weight held over her, his wings spread around them. As though hearing this thought, Az tucks her more snugly against him, wrapping her in his arms. He sweeps her thick blonde hair over a shoulder and leans down to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to her neck; making her forget her vulnerability, forget everything that isn’t  _him_.

At the same time his other hand rises from where it was pressed over her abdomen, keeping her against him, only stopping when it reaches one of her breasts. He cups it in his hand, pinching the nipple between thumb and forefinger, tugging and teasing until it peaks for him and she lets out a soft gasp of breath.

Leaning down, Az presses his lips against her ear and murmurs, voice hot and dripping with lust, “I want you like this, Morrigan,” he says, jostling her body a little against his to emphasise the point, so she knows exactly what he wants.

A shiver trembles through her at the request- and it is a request. Even if he’s pulling her back against him, purring what he wants in her ear, this is still entirely her choice. The prospect sends a hot thrill through her.  Having Az take her that way, the way he wants, surrendering her control over the situation, only being able to take what he gives her in that position…

“Yes,” she whispers without hesitation. She wants this. She wants what he wants. She wants him to claim her this way, wants the trickle of primal desire and  _need_ he’s finally letting her see.

She can feel Az’s satisfied smile against her neck as he places a soft kiss over the place where her pulse pounds beneath her skin. He pulls her more firmly against him and she grinds her hips back on him until he groans and tugs more firmly, stopping her teasing him.

He’s… _different_  when he’s in bed with her, still him, still quiet and devoted, but there’s a subtle change when they’re alone together. After more than five hundred years with him she had thought she had known everything about him, that no part of him could be unfamiliar or new- that he was done surprising her. She had been delighted to be wrong.

Another side of him had revealed itself to her in the moonlit hours when their bodies joined. He was more assertive, more assured and intense. His kisses have never been shy, have never contained anything less than his devotion to her, his love, his desire to wring every bit of pleasure possible from her. The longer she had spent with him- kissing him, touching him, holding him, letting him fill every empty, aching part of her, the more she had discovered.

He was like her favourite strong liquor, rich, burning, demanding to be felt, commanding every inch of focus whenever she allowed either to influence her body. He was hot and sensual and certain, rippling with an undercurrent of dark playfulness. He was utterly consuming and nothing else mattered, nothing ever seemed to even exist but his body, his presence, his very soul, when they were together.

He was  _intoxicating_. She hadn’t thought it possible – that she could want him  _more_ once he was hers but…From that first brush of his tongue against hers, that first taste of him, she had known that she would never belong to another heart again. She was his. She had always been his, really. As he had always been hers. She had known she would never want anyone else – and that she would never stop wanting him.

Azriel shifts slightly behind her and Mor catches the unmistakable sound of him unbuckling his belt, sliding it free before unlacing his trousers and easing them off with his underwear. She makes no attempt to hide the low groan that builds in her chest. Anticipation claws at her belly like physical hunger, carving out a space inside her that she needs him to fill, that burns without him.

Then he’s pressing up against her once more, drawing her back, tucking her in close to him. Nothing separates them now but skin and sweat. Heat radiates from her and she needs it, she needs  _something_ , to soothe the desperate throbbing heat in her core.

“Azriel,” she grinds out but breaks off when he lightly nudges her thighs apart with his knee.

A soft whine breaks from her when she feels him brush lightly over her entrance, teasing her. Before she can snarl her need at him, he’s murmuring in her ear, stealing the words from her tongue and the breath from her lungs.

“You’re ready for me, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice smooth, composed, as though he’s not desperate to take her, to have her hard and fast and make her scream his name.

“Yes,” she all but cries out, “Yes, Az, I-“

“Shh,” he coaxes her. There’s no authority in the words, no command, no sharpness or fire- the urging is soft, almost calming, but she obeys him at once.

“I need you to be a good girl for me, Morrigan,” he says evenly, pressing the words into her ear, breath hot and teasing.

She whimpers, nodding urgently – anything,  _anything_ , she’ll do whatever he wants, whatever he needs if he’ll just…She tries to rock back against him, needing the delicious stretch of him filling her, needing the friction of him moving in her, the pleasure that he can always draw from her body, just  _needing_  him inside-

“These walls are very thin,” he continues calmly, strong arms around her, stopping her speeding things up, taking matters into her own hands, determined to have hear listen to him. “We don’t want anyone to know what we’re doing in here, do we?”

She shakes her head, mouth falling open to answer him but words are utterly failing her. Fortunately, Az doesn’t need to hear her.

“I need you to be quiet,” he tells her simply, and this time the order is evident in his tone. She bites down hard on her lip to suppress the whine threatening to spill from her throat. “Can you do that for me, Mor?”

Yes, yes, Cauldron yes, she’ll do whatever he asks, whatever he wants, he just has to- She starts to answer him, to promise him, beg him, but his hand tightens warningly at her waist, nails biting into her flesh and she swallows down her pleas, nodding urgently instead.

Az hums his quiet approval then tilts her hips up slightly, urging her up onto her toes, before nudging gently forwards. She lets her eyes flutter closed, ready for him to gradually,  _agonizingly_  taking his time in easing into her. Without warning he snaps his hips roughly against hers, filling her completely in a single long thrust.  

Her hand darts out, gripping the wooden wall in front of her, bracing herself against it, clinging onto it for support. Her eyes clamp shut and her mouth falls open in silent ecstasy. She’s wanted this, anticipated it hungrily since she first saw him on the bridge and oh,  _fuck_ , it’s incredible, he’s incredible.

“Good,” he purrs lightly as she lets out her taut breath, panting with the effort of restraining herself. “Good girl,” he praises her and he knows, damn him he  _knows_ what that  does to her, for her to hear those things coming from his mouth. She starts praying to Cauldron and Mother both – this is too much, too much, too much, too much, too-

He withdraws from her, drawing the movement out, making it slow, torturous; then he thrusts in again, hard. She can’t help the whimper that escapes her self control at the moment.

“ _Morrigan_ ,” he snarls in warning.

She lets out a hoarse whine but her fingers curl into the narrow gaps between the polished wooden panels on the wall, finding some small anchor point in them. He pulls out again then pushes in, just as slowly as before, just as hard- it’s deliberate,  _claiming_. Her fingers bite harder into the wall until they turn white and burn, the hot pain blending with the warm thrum of pleasure pulsing through her body.

She feels his lips nuzzling gently at her neck then he murmurs softly, “I missed you.”

She nods weakly in agreement. They’ve both been busy the last few days. He had been contacting his spies in other courts, gathering reports and discussing his findings with Rhys. She had been forced to attend the Court of Nightmares for days on end to attend to the drastic changes that were being made there.

It wasn’t something she had thought would be a problem. After all, they were good at waiting, they had waited for this, for each other, for five hundred years and she would wait another five centuries, a millennia, as long as it took for him but…

Not seeing him every day, not being able to pull him into every shadowy corner and kiss him breathless, relieve some of her frustration; not being able to slip gratefully into his arms at night when things got too much; not being able to look forward to slipping into her bed and finding him there because cold reality reminded her it would be empty had been nothing short of torture.

This- this is  _bliss_.

Tentatively, she whispers, the words hoarse but tender, “I missed you too, Az.”

He rewards her controlled words, her intimate confession, with another deep thrust. She trembles, losing her anchoring grip on the wall but Az loops a muscled arm around her middle and pulls her securely against him instead.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes, reverence painted over every syllable until the words fall like prayers upon her skin.

“I love you,” she murmurs back. Her voice shakes but she lets every bit of devotion that’s been gathering inside her over the last five hundred years of feeling that way without being able to say it into those words.

He pushes into her again, striking deep, making her gasp, eyes clamping shut and she grips onto the arm around her stomach, her nails biting into his skin.  

“I know, Mor,” he murmurs, his voice rich and pulsing with adoration.

Her body seems to melt at that, at those words, and she feels his arm tighten around her, keeping her supported, keeping her solidly against him as she trembles. More than anything-even him telling her that he loves her in return- she savours that response. Him telling her that he knows how she loves him, that he accepts it, that he  _believes_  it after all this time…

“Az,” she whimpers, sliding her hand up his arm, lacing their fingers together, squeezing in a short, quick pulse.

Shaking with the depth of feeling that’s starting to radiate through her she rocks her hips back against him, needing him to just  _move_ , to give her everything he wants to. Her head tips forward, hair sliding over her face and she lets herself pant as he sinks into a steadier rhythm at her coaxing. Her fingers bite into the wall in front of her again, trying to keep a grip on herself and the wood groans.

They haven’t done it like this before and it’s… _overwhelming_  to say the least. They haven’t ever fucked anywhere that isn’t her bedroom or his either and Mor knows, in that dim, dark part of her mind that’s still connected to logic that it shouldn’t make any difference at all. It does. The unfamiliarity, the thin walls, how this feels at once more public, less intimate but also so much more intense, more  _real_.

Their bedrooms have been the settings of so many quiet fantasies, so many once hopeless sensual dreams that being there, with him, like this, had always held a faint shred of unreality. This remote inn room that contains them, smelling faintly of lemongrass and wood smoke is entirely tangible, almost  _too_ real. It feels good, it feels so desperately, achingly  _good_  that she can barely stand it.

As she starts to shake, legs feeling weak from the pleasure coursing through her, Mor slips gratefully from her brace against the wall to sink properly into Azriel’s arms instead. He pulls her hard against his chest. One arm remains locked firmly around her middle- his free hand slides up her body to gently cup her breast. She reaches back, blindingly digging her hand into his hair, nails scraping his scalp as she clings tightly to it for purchase.

“Faster,” she whispers, needing it, needing more, more, more- “Please,” she gets out desperately, voice cracking with the strain of it.

He obliges. Increasing his pace he presses more firmly into her, still slamming in deep and hard but now- “Perfect,” she rasps, her eyes fluttering closed. “Az, you’re perfect, this is-“ she breaks off, biting her lip to force down her cry.

She wants to moan and damn the thin walls, damn the other guests, damn the whole of Velaris, damn everyone who isn’t  _them_. That’s all she cares about,  _this_  is all she cares about and she wants to let him know, wants to let him hear what he’s doing to her, how much she loves it, how much she loves him.

Still panting, keeping her voice as low as she can, straining with the effort of her control, her restraint, “Az, this-  _you_ \- feel incredible,” she tells him hoarsely.

He lets out a faint groan, the kind of soft sound she’s learned to delight in coaxing from him. Neither of them are loud in bed, typically, but she’s far more naturally vocal than he is and this silence is as torturous as it is intoxicating. Without warning, Az’s hips jerk more sharply into hers and he quickens his movements again, making them deeper, rougher.

The hand on her breast rises and fits gently smoothly around her throat. Mor’s lips part a little in surprise but she doesn’t resist him as he slowly, carefully, tilts her head back until it’s resting against his shoulder. Leaning down to her he kisses her, soft and intimate, his tongue smothering the hoarse, urgent pleas-  _for this, for more, please, please, Az, please-_ that were threatening to spill over the confines of her self control.

“You’re doing so well. Aren’t you my love?” he murmurs quietly and she whines, nodding as much as she can, her eyes clamped shut again. “No,” he growls, hips snapping sharply into hers, “Look at me.” She obeys him. “That’s it, that’s right,” he purrs, a soft groan of breath pressed into her skin as he breathes; “You’re perfect,  _perfect_ , Morrigan.” He dips and kisses her again and she can’t breathe, can’t think with him in her, speaking to her this way it’s ruining her.

The praise undoes her, as much as the possession in his next soft, dark words. “My good girl.”

It’s not a question but she nods urgently to him, wanting more, softly stifling a whimper when the hand not around her throat hand dips below her navel. His fingers slide slowly, easily, through her slick folds, pressing over her clit, right where she needs him. She clamps her lips together, trembling so badly so feels she might have unravelled if she were not held in his embrace. She grabs blindly at his shoulder and her nails rake over him, scoring bright red marks over the stark black tattoos as he begins to stroke her.

Az rewards her with a controlled growl of approval and continues, “You’re so wet, my good girl,” the phrase makes her shudder, and her nails dig more deeply into his skin, needing it, needing something to stop her crying out. “So wet for me.” Mor refuses to let the whimper building in her throat loose.

Instead she rocks her hips back against his, hard, silently pleading with him,  _don’t stop, don’t stops, don’t stop, don’t stop._ He doesn’t. His hips snap into hers again and he thrusts deeply into her, his rhythm steady and controlled once more and she closes her eyes, sinking into the feeling of him behind her, around her, in her, consuming every part of her.

“Do you like this, Morrigan?” he asks quietly, evenly.

Not trusting herself to speak, to make any sound at all, she only nods again, golden curls bouncing with the motion. He hums contentedly behind her and she wants to scream out his name, wants to moan, wants to pant and beg and tell him exactly how he feels inside her, what he’s doing to her, how much she loves it, loves  _him_. She wants to crack that cool composure, make him lose his mind for her, make him snap, make him  _claim_  her.

She tilts her head back onto his shoulder again, eyes closed, breathing him in, just letting herself  _feel_ , letting the moment swell around her and take every part of her body, her being, for its own. There’s so little she can give back in this position and it’s all about him. It sends a thrill of pleasure arching along her spine when she realises that, even when he has almost complete control over their coupling, every movement, every kiss, every thrust, every touch, every murmured word is all for  _her_. her pleasure, her need, her release remain his focus. And she’s close. She’s so close, so close, so close and-

He thrusts up into her  _hard_ , altering his angle slightly and he hits a spot inside her that shatters every brittle thread of control she was pretending to cling to. Her back arches and a rough cry bursts from her, muffled almost immediately. With a soft snarl, Az clamps the hand that had been lovingly cradling her throat over her mouth instead, keeping her quiet.

The grip is gentle but firm and he pauses for a fraction of a heartbeat to let her protest or pull away if it’s too much but she only whimpers and grinds impatiently back against him. As soon as he starts moving into her again however he body goes limp as she surrenders herself to him completely once more.

“That’s it,” he groans softly, increasing his pace again, coaxing her into this new rhythm with him, their bodies moving in perfect sync. “That’s it, that’s it-  _Morrigan_.” He grinds out her name, shuddering behind her, resting his head against the back of her neck, breathing her in, trying to control himself.

He starts moving harder, faster, that control snapping, his thrusts becoming harsher, his rhythm more erratic and-  _Mother preserve her_ \- he knows what she likes. Reaching up slowly, with trembling fingers, she strokes his wing, knowing he’s close, wanting to bring him over the edge with her. With a snarl his hand leaves her mouth and fastens around her wrist, tearing her away from him, pinning her down against the wall instead.

Panting Mor groans a little. Az doesn’t slow his pace and she realises how close he must be as well, how hard it is to hold himself back for her if he won’t,  _can’t,_  let her near his wings yet. His hand doesn’t move from hers, he only laces their fingers together, anchoring himself to her.

She makes full use of her recently freed lips. Leaning her head back against his shoulder once more she coaxes him down to kiss her, whimpering into his mouth at the warm press of his tongue meeting hers.

“Az,” she gasps when he breaks the kiss, urging her closer, guiding her body into a rhythm with his as he increases his pace once more. “Az I’m going to come,” she pants, nodding her head as though to emphasise this, eyes snapping shut, voice cracking. “I’m going to come for you.”

He groans, his head falling forwards, his lips mouthing hopelessly against her neck, “Yes,” he groans into her skin and his fingers press harder between her legs, coaxing her closer and closer.

Another loud moan is torn from her against her will. A second later she feels a soft, dark velvet whisper caressing her lips, silencing her. Her eyes widen as understanding slams into her. His shadows. His  _shadows_. She whines, shaking uncontrollably in his arms.

Her back arches as pleasure throbs through her body like a second, thunderous heartbeat. Desperate, gasping for breath, she tightly squeezes his hand, a quick pulse of her fingers where they remain pinned against the wall beneath his. He squeezes back.

“I want you to come,” he urges her, his voice a low, rough purr. “Morrigan,” she whimpers through her gag. “I want you to come for me now.” She nods, just wants that too and she’s close, she’s so close, just a little more-

Azriel presses his lips against her ear, his breath hot as he whispers hoarsely, voice cracking on her name, “ _Please_ , Morrigan.”

She shatters, ecstasy bursting through her nerves, her cry lost in the swirling shadows over her mouth. Az releases her hand, his rhythm rough and erratic now. She understands the permission, the invitation, the  _plea_ , in the gesture and gives him what he needs. Murmuring softly to him, telling him how good she feels, how badly she wants to feel him come for  _her_  now, she strokes his wing over the place she knows will finish him.

His hips jerk roughly into hers and he lets out a faint groan and she praises him as she coaxes him closer, closer, closer, stopping when she feels him finally find his own release inside her with a sharp gasp and a hoarse whisper of breath that forms itself around her name.

Both spent they stand together in the small, dimly lit room, the candles having burned low, panting and clinging to one another. He runs his fingers softly through her long hair. When his hand meets her shoulder he lets it continue, running down it like water down a pane of glass, down, down, over her sides, stroking, soothing her.

He lightly kisses her neck, murmuring softly to her, how beautiful she is, how amazing that felt, how much he loves her. After a long moment Az gently slips his arms around her and scoops her up, body still boneless and limp with pleasure, carrying her the few feet to the bed. She laugh fondly at his protective fussing. She might have teased him, might have huffed good-naturedly that she was still capable of walking in spite of what they’d just done. But the force of his gaze stops her. There’s so much love in his eyes, so much devotion as he looks down at her, a tender smile blossoming on his lips as he strokes his fingers lightly through her sweaty hair.

She allows him to set her down gently on the bed without protest but whines piteously when he kisses her forehead but doesn’t immediately join her. Still smiling, he gently frees himself from her insistent grip on his wrist and pads to the adjoining washroom. Sinking down onto the bed beside her when he returns he gently cleans her up with the damp towel then takes care of himself before nestling down behind her, tucking his body around hers, spooning her gently.

His fingers run absently through her hair and they’re quiet for a long time, lingering in this peace undisturbed by word or motion. Finally, he shifts behind her, tensing a little, and speaks, “Was that…all right?” he asks her quietly, a tentative edge to his voice and though she can’t see him, she knows only too well the frown of concern that will crease his handsome features, that furrow between his brows deepening with worry.

She understands his meaning, what he fears at once. Turning to look over her shoulder she winds her fingers through his hair and draws him down for a deep, loving kiss. “ _Very_ all right,” she assures him with a wicked smile and a satisfied huff of breath. She only settles back into her previous position after she’s seen the features sharpened by concern soften, reassured, a tentative smile replacing his worried frown.

They lie quietly, enjoying their time together, peaceful, uninterrupted bliss. When the sun has sunk fully beneath the horizon and plunged them into darkness, Velaris begins to come alive around them and Mor groans.

“We should head back soon,” she mumbles thickly, making no effort at all to move. “We’ll be missed.”

A part of her wants to damn the consequences of them both not attending the monthly family dinner at the House of Wind to the depths of the Cauldron. The other part longs for it, and for keeping this, with Az, a fiercely cherished secret just…just a little longer. With that in mind she reluctantly starts to wriggle away from him but Az places a scarred hand gently on her shoulder, making her pause.

“We have a little more time,” he murmurs softly. “Stay.”

Unable to deny him anything she crawls back happily into his arms and kisses him slowly, deeply, savouring him.  

Later that night at dinner after a very hasty shower, Feyre asks them, with a little too much eagerness, how their evenings went. In a perfect, smooth deadpan, honed and polished by centuries of practice, Az tells her both their meetings went a bit awry but they met up with each other instead. Feyre actually leans forwards in her chair at that revelation, Rhys and Cassian hide their smiles in their glasses.

Mor swoops in at this point and chirpily tells their High Lady that, between the two of them, they managed to get a lot of work done. “Az came up with some great ideas for the upcoming court integration!” she says brightly.

Feyre visibly wilts, looking irritated at this response. Behind her back, perfectly aware of what’s been going on between Mor and Azriel for months now and what they were likely doing instead of discussing court politics, Cassian chokes into his goblet of wine.

Feyre’s face sets into a look that’s an unmistakable, now endearingly familiar combination of disappointment and stubborn determination. Mor risks catching Azriel’s eye over the rim of her own cup and grins, both of them now looking forward to several more secret rendezvous across Velars, courtesy of their very generous, very persistent High Lady…

****

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! Feedback will (maybe) fuel more I'm having a difficult time with writing at the moment and this was A Trial to get up and posted.


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